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™>  OTHER  STORIES 


Byr 

Pauline  Wilson  Worth 


Illustrations  by* 
C.   A.  Friedmann 


Segnogram  Press 

Los  oAngeles 

1909 


To 

W.  H.  D.,  J.  W.  D.  and  P.  E.  D. 

Two  brave  little  men  and 

a    dear    little    maid 

My  most  gentle 

critics 


IN'T  never  heerd  of  Death  Valley  Slim? 
Well,  it's  plain  thet  ye  air  a  stranger  in 
these  parts,  'cause  ever'body  as  has  been 
here  twenty-four  hour  has  heerd  tell  of  him. 

"Tell  ye  about  him?  Why,  certainly,  but  ye 
might  as  well  fill  your  pipe  and  draw  your  cheer 
up  comfortable  like,  'cause  it's  a  long  story,  and 
a  strange  one — ye  might  be  a  little  inclined  to 
think  thet  it  is  stretched  a  bit,  but  it  ain't — it's 
ever'  word  gospel  truth." 

Glad  of  a  chance  to  kill  time  in  the  little  Ore- 
gon mining  camp,  where  I  had  been  compelled 
to  stay  over  Sunday,  I  filled  my  pipe  and,  with 
my  feet  on  the  table,  I  settled  myself  back  in  my 
chair  in  front  of  a  cheerful  log  fire  and  awaited 
the  story. 

"Death  Valley  Slim  was  about  as  homely  a 
cuss  as  you'll  ever  see;  seemed  like  God  had  a 
lot  of  odd  pieces  left  over  and  he  jist  put  'em 
together  and  called  'em  Slim.  He  was  six  foot 
two  in  his  stockin'  feet,  he  had  one  game  eye 
thet  stared  at  ye  while  t'other  one  looked  around, 
and  he  had  a  long,  droopin'  mustache.  Awful 
awkward,  Death  Valley  Slim  was;  seemed  like 
his  big  hands  and  feet  was  allus  in  his  way. 


DEATH  VALLEY   SLIM 


"Well  sir,  thet  feller  had  walked  plum  acrost 
the  continent;  he  would  stay  in  one  place  until 
he  got  tired  of  it,  and  then  git  up  and  stretch  his 
long  laigs  and  strike  out  fer  new  diggin's ;  he  was 
kinder  like  thet  Injun  thet  one  of  the  poets  tell 
about. 

"How  did  he  earn  his  livin'?  Why,  man,  Death 
Valley,  .could  earn  a  livin'  where  you  couldn't. 
He"'.ha:d:;the  .finest  voice  thet  ever  I  heerd  and  I 
•Jievheerd  Aomfe  of  the  best;  seemed  like  all  the 
p'uf tiness*  and*  -Sweetness  thet  was  left  out  of  his 
body  was  put  in  his  voice,  and,  stranger,  he  could 
make  a  guitar  talk.  He  played  and  sung  in  the 
saloons  and  he  could  draw  a  crowd  in  less  time 
than  it  would  take  to  tell  it. 

"He  used  to  work  over  in  the  mica  mines  in 
Death  Valley  and  when  he  come  here  he  wouldn't 
give  no  name  eceptin'  Slim,  so  we  all  got  to  callin' 
him  Death  Valley  Slim,  and  I  reckon  they  ain't  a 
dozen  people  here  as  knows  his  right  name. 

"I  took  up  with  him  right  from  the  first,  'cause 
I  liked  his  big,  honest  eyes,  and  I  could  tell  thet 
underneath  all  his  homeliness  was  a  heart  thet 
was  true  as  steel.  Death  Valley  was  a  great 
talker,  but  after  he  had  left  you  and  you  went  to 
think  over  what  he  had  said  to  you,  you'd  find 
out  ez  he  hadn't  told  you  nothin';  he  lived  inside 
of  hisself. 

"Well,  sir,  one  time  we  had  been  out  to  the 
Palace  (thet's  one  of  the  saloons  where  Death 
Valley  used  to  sing),  and  I  noticed  ez  how  Death 
was  awful  quiet  like,  and  I  sez  to  him,  'Death 
Valley,  what's  ailin'  you  tonight?  You  ain't  a 
gettin'  ready  to  tramp  ag'in,  be  you?' 

"  'No  Dutch,'  sez  he  (he  allus  called  me  Dutch ; 
don't  know  how  it  ever  got  started),  'No,  Dutch; 
I  wish  to  heavens  I  could  git  the  movin'  fever  on 
agin,  but  there  is  somethin'  thet  holds  me  here 


&#  <Y?U  •;£'/,* 


OTHER   STORIES 


and  it  seems  like  I  jist  can't  bear  to  think  of 
leavinY 

"I  looked  at  him  wonderin'  like,  and  he  went 
on,  'I  know  'taint  no  use;  thet  she  can't  never 
love  such  a  good  fer  nothin'  as  I  am,  and  so  I 
shan't  never  trouble  her  nor  let  her  know  any- 
thing about  my  feelin's  fer  her,  but,  Dutch,  I  love 
her  with  my  whole  soul;  I  love  her  jist  like  the 
little  flowers  love  the  sun — if  it  leaves  them  they 
die,  and  I  feel  thet  if  I  was  where  I  couldn't  see 
her,  I  would  foller  suit.  So,  Dutch,  while  she's 
here,  I  am  here,  and  wherever  she  goes,  I  go — 
she  won't  never  think  nothin'  of  it  'cause  I  wan- 
der so  much  anyway,  but  I'm  a  watchin'  her, 
Dutch,  and  if  anybody  ever  tries  to  harm  her 
they've  got  Slim  to  deal  with  to  the  finish.' 

"  'But  Death,'  says  I,  'you  ain't  told  me  who 
she  is  and  you  hev  kept  your  feelin's  so  close  to 
yourself  thet  I  ain't  even  got  a  guessin'  acquaint- 
ance with  who  you  mean.' 

"Well,  it  'peared  thet  the  gal  was  Nita  Hay- 
den  and  her  pa  was  our  preacher.  Of  course  she 
couldn't  have  nothin'  to  do  with  a  feller  as  sung 
in  saloons;  thet  was  a  cinch,  and  so  I  told  Death, 
'You  air  a  lookin'  a  little  too  high — you  want  to 
let  your  affections  light  on  some  woman  more 
like  yourself.  Now  there's  Lillie  Mason;  she's 
more  to  your  style.' 

"  'Now  look  ahere,  Dutch,'  sez  he,  'I  don't  want 
to  hear  no  more — I  hev  got  enough  sense  to  know 
thet  the  little  gal  wouldn't  no  more  look  at  me 
than  she  would  at  a  common  beggar  and,  as  I 
said  afore,  I  ain't  a-goin'  to  bother  her  none,  but 
all  the  powers  thet  be  can't  keep  me  from  lovin' 
her.' 

"His  whole  face  lit  up  when  he  said  thet  and 
I'll  be  switched  if  Death  Valley  Slim  didn't  look 
almost  handsome." 


DEATH   VALLEY   SLIM 


A  smile  lingered  on  his  lips  as  he  sat  there,  his 
thoughts  in  the  past  and  my  presence  forgotten 
until  I  gave  a  little  cough  to  remind  him  that  he 
had  an  interested  and  impatient  listener. 

"Now  it  wasn't  long  after  thet,  thet  a  feller 
come  into  camp  to  keep  books  and  do  the  assayin' 
fer  the  Silver  King  and  he  tuck  right  up  with 
Nita,  of  course,  she  bein'  a  mighty  purty  little 
trick,  and  jist  as  smart  and  good  as  she  was  good 
lookin'. 

"Thet  feller  hadn't  been  in  camp  six  months 
afore  it  was  plain  thet  he  had  lost  his  heart  com- 
plete to  Nita,  an'  she  was  jist  all  wrapped  up  in 
him,  but  it  'peared  thet  her  pa  had  other  plans 
for  her.  It  seemed  thet  there  was  a  feller  as  had 
made  a  stake  over  in  Montany  and  he  was  mighty 
tuck  up  with  Nita.  Her  pa  wanted  her  to  marry 
him,  'cause  he  had  the  long  green.  Couldn't 
blame  the  poor  cuss;  you  know  preachers  don't 
usual  hev  their  pockets  lined  with  green  backs 
and  Hayden  had  a  big  family  and,  while  he  liked 
the  young  bookkeeper  mighty  well,  he  couldn't 
see  why  Nita  couldn't  love  the  feller  thet  had 
the  money.  But  the  pore  little  gal  couldn't  help 
where  her  affections  lit.  Affections  is  jist  like  a 
cup  of  water  throwed  into  a  crowded  street;  jist 
as  likely  to  light  on  a  beggar  as  it  is  on  a  mil- 
lionaire. 

"Well,  time  went  on  and  it  turned  out  thet  the 
pore  little  Nita  had  felt  it  her  duty  to  do  as  her 
pa  wished  and  it  was  reported  around  camp  thet 
on  the  next  Wednesday  night  after  prayer  meet- 
in'  thet  Nita  and  the  money  feller  was  a  goin'  to 
git  married,  and  all  you  needed  to  do  was  to  take 
one  look  at  the  pore  bookkeeper  and  Nita's  pale 
face,  to  know  thet  it  was  so. 

"Where  was  Death  Valley  Slim  all  this  time? 
Well'  I'm  a  gittin'  to  thet.  You  see  I  told  you 
once  afore  as  how  he  allus  kept  everything  to 


cAND   OTHER   STORIES 


hisself,  but  I'll  be  blowed  if  he  didn't  hand  me 
one  thet  I  wasn't  lookin'  fer. 

"He  come  up  on  a  Thursday  night  afore  the 
weddin'  and  he  set  right  down  where  you  air  a 
settin'  now,  and  he  sez  to  me,  'Dutch,  I  ain't 
never  told  ye  very  much  about  myself  and  I  hev 
liked  ye  fine  'cause  ye  ain't  never  asked  me  no 
questions,  and  so  I'm  a  goin'  to  tell  ye  some- 
thin'  as  will  surprise  ye  a  little,  I  reckon.  Dutch, 
I  am  a  rich  man — ye  don't  need  to  look  so  all- 
fired  thunderstruck.  I  know  I  don't  look  like 
one,  but  I  ain't  been  a  diggin'  around  minin' 
camps  thirty  year  fer  nothin'.  If  you'll  re- 
member a  story  in  the  "Herald"  about  a  man  thet 
struck  it  rich  over  in  the  new  gold  fields  of  Colo- 
rado about  fifteen  year  ago,  and  how  he  stayed 
a  tramp — well,  thet's  me. 

"  'Now  look  ahere,  Dutch,  you  air  the  only  per- 
son on  earth  thet  knows  thet  I  love  thet  little  gal 
and  you  don't  know  'cause  you  can't  see  my  in- 
ner f eelin's ;  but  I  hev  been  adoin'  some  purty  tall 
thinkin'  lately  and  I  want  you  to  help  me.  Thet 
little  gal  mustn't  marry  thet  lubber  with  the 
money;  she  might  far  better  marry  me  and  I 
ain't  no  more  fit  for  her  to  marry  than  a  hog  is 
to  stay  in  a  parlor,  and,  Dutch,  I  hev  got  all  of 
this  money  and  it  don't  do  me  no  good,  and  if 
I  could  only  work  it  so's  to  make  the  little  gal 
happy  I'd  be  almost  happy  myself.-  Can't  ye  help 
me  on  this  deal,  Dutch?' 

"I  felt  considerable  up  the  stump  and  so  I  told 
Death  as  how  the  young  man  was  too  proud  to 
accept  money  straight  out  and  so  was  Nita  and 
her  pa.  Well,  jist  then  I  had  an  idee.  'Look 
ahere,  Death  Valley,  I've  got  an  idee.  Ye  know 
people  is  allus  makin'  donations  to  preachers  and 
churches,  and  the  Lord  knows  this  preacher  and 
this  church  needs  it  as  bad  as  the  next  ones.  So 
why  not  send  a  donation  to  the  preacher,  the 


t? 


•:> 


•-•«Tr7~.:.., 


«y 


....««£. 


DEATH   VALLEY   SLIM 


church,  and  to  Nita,  saying  thet  it  is  from  some 
one  they  have  helped?  You  write  me  out  a  check 
fur  twenty  thousand,  and  I'll  go  over  to  Baker 
City  and  git  the  money  tonight  and  we'll  send  it 
from  there  and  they'll  never  know  where  it  come 
from  and  Nita  will  hev  enough  so  thet  she  can 
marry  the  man  she  loves.' 

"Well,  sir,  Death  %Valley  Slim  grabbed  me  by 
the  hand  and  threw  a  lot  into  me  about  allus 
bein'  right  where  he  could  find  me,  and  the  kind 
of  a  friend  to  hev,  and  sich  rot. 

"Well,  he  set  right  down  then  and  there  and 
writ  out  a  check  fer  twenty  thousan'.  He  said  he 
wanted  two  to  go  to  the  old  man,  one  to  the 
church,  and  the  rest  to  Nita,  "Cause/  sez  he,  'I 
want  her  to  hev  enough  to  keep  her  comfortable 
all  her  life,  and,  anyway,  Dutch,  what  good  is 
my  money  to  me  unless  she  kin  help  me  enjoy  it?' 

"We  then  writ  a  note  which  run  in  this  wise : 

'Fer  Mister  John  Hayden, 

Black  Cat  Camp,  Oregon  State. 
'Dear  Sir:    Please  accept  three  thousand  dol- 
lars to  use  as  you  please  fer  yourself  and  church 
— you  keep  twice  as  much  fer  yourself  as  you 
keep  fer  the  church — from 

One  You  Have  Helped. 

"Then  we  writ  another  one- — 

'Fer  Miss  Juanita  Hayden, 

Black  Cat  Camp,  Oregon  State. 
Dear  Miss:     Please  accept    this    money    as    a 
token  of  respect  from 

One  You  Have  Helped.' 

'P.  S.  Taint  no  use  to  try  to  find  out  who  sent 
it  'cause  he  is  dead  now.  Use  it  and  be  happy.' 

"Well,  we  fixed  the  money  up  and  sent  it,  and 
the  next  day  the  camp  was  aringin'  with  the  news 


c>tND   OTHER   STORIES 


of  the  preacher  and  his  daughter  agittin'  a  pile 
from  some  unknown  person.  The  next  mornin' 
we  heerd  as  how  Nita  and  the  young  bookkeeper 
was  agoin'  to  git  married  thet  night  and  as  how 
the  feller  with  the  long  green  had  hiked  off  fer 
the  east. 

"Well,  we  went  down  to  the  Palace  thet  night 
and  jist  as  Nita's  weddin'  bells  was  aringin', 
Death  Valley  Slim  started  to  sing  an,  say, 
stranger,  I  never  heerd  sich  singin'  and  playin' 
afore  nor  sence.  Ever'  feller  in  the  Palace  was 
cryin'  and  we  wasn't  one  of  us  ashamed  of  it, 
neither. 

"He  stopped  a  minute  in  the  middle  of  a  song 
and  then  he  begun  to  pick  kinder  soft  and 
dreamy  like  on  his  guitar;  then  all  to  once  he 
begun  to  sing, 

'Nita,  Juanita, 
Ask  thy  soul  if  we  should  part; 

'Nita,  Juanita, 
Lean  thou  on  my  heart.' 

"All  the  feelin's  thet  he  had  kept  bottled  up  in 
his  big  body  so  long  come  out  in  thet  song. 
Didn't  seem  like  it  was  Death  Valley  Slim 
a-singin';  sounded  more  like  an  angel;  he  fergot 
all  about  us  fellers  and  his  eyes  hed  a  fur  away 
look  in  'em.  As  fer  us,  we  jist  stood  spellbound. 
The  fellers  all  said  that  they  never  heerd  sich 
singin'  in  all  their  days.  But  I  knowed  what  they 
didn't  know,  you  see,  and  I  couldn't  stand  it  no 
longer.  I  hit  the  trail." 

Again  my  host  lapsed  into  a  reverie,  but  this 
time  with  a  sad  look  on  his  weather-beaten  face. 
Truly,  thought  I,  underneath  all  this  roughness 
is  the  place  to  find  the  true  hearts — the  friend- 
ships which  last  through  death. 

"Well,  in  a  few  minutes  here  come  Death  Val- 
ley right  on  my  heels,  and  he  sez,  'Dutch,  the 


DEATH  VALLEY  SLIM 


movin'  fever  is  on  again,  and  it's  come  so  strong 
thet  I'm  afeerd  I  won't  stop  this  side  of  Aus- 
traly,  so  I  am  agoin'  to  hit  the  trail  tonight. 
Dutch,  if  he  don't  treat  her  right  you'll  let  me 
know,  won't  ye?  I'll  let  ye  know  where  I  light. 
Goodbye,  Dutch;  don't  live  too  high  on  the  little 
wad  I  left  under  your  piller.' 

"No,  I  ain't  never  seen  nothin'  of  him  sence. 
I  reckon  his  great  big  heart  pained  him  too  much 
when  he  thought  of  her  to  ever  try  life  agin  in 
this  camp,  but  the  fellers  all  remembers  him 
kindly  and  the  camp  still  talks  about  the  last 
singin'  done  in  the  Palace  by  Death  Valley  Slim." 


UST  how  she  happened  to  be  a  resident  of 
Green  Gulch  Camp  no  one  ever  seemed 
to  be  able  to  understand;  however,  the 
fact  remained  that  she  was  there,  and  the  people 
of  the  camp,  according  to  the  unwritten  laws  that 
always  exist  in  a  mining  camp,  asked  no  ques- 
tions. 

"The  Princess"  she  had  been  named  and  if  she 
had  any  other  name  she  herself  was  unable  to  tell 
you  what  it  was.  A  tiny  little  slip  of  a  girl  with 
tangled  yellow  curls  and  big  deep  blue  eyes — 
eyes  which  had  kept  many  a  mean  character  in 
Green  Gulch  from  becoming  meaner..  A  verita- 
ble angel  of  the  camp  she  had  been  since  her  ap- 
pearance there  when  just  a  prattling  babe. 

It  would  be  a  hard  task  to  find  any  two  people 
more  unlike  than  the  Princess  and  her  "Daddy," 
as  she  had  lovingly  nicknamed  him.  Jim  Brad- 
shaw  was  perhaps  the  most  unprepossessing  man 
in  the  whole  country.  Gruff  and  unfriendly,  si- 
lent and  sullen,  he  seemed  to  all  but  the  Princess ; 
in  her  presence  he  was  a  changed  man;  his 
attitude  was  all  tenderness  and  solicitude,  and 
sometimes  as  he  looked  at  her  one  could  note 
a  moisture  about  his  eyes  which  might  have  been 
taken  for  tears. 


DEATH   VALLEY   SLIM 


As  the  years  went  by  and  the  Princess  grew 
into  beautiful  womanhood  —  beautiful  even  be- 
yond all  expectations,  Jim  Bradshaw,  instead  of 
growing  mellowed  and  softened,  as  one  would 
suppose,  grew  morbid,  depressed  and  restless. 
Even  the  Princess,  who  was  accustomed  to  his 
moods,  was  puzzled,  and  time  and  again  would 
entreat  him  to  tell  her  what  was  on  his  mind. 

"Daddy,  I  know  something  is  worrying  you, 
and  am  I  not  your  little  comforter?  I  want  you 
to  confide  in  me  and  let  me  help  to  smooth  the 
wrinkles  from  your  dear  old  brow.  You  are  not 
worrying  over  Ben's  love  affairs,  are  you?  Who 
knows?  Maybe  some  day  I  will  tell  him  that  I 
love  him  as  much  as  he  does  me."  And  the  Prin- 
cess colored  prettily  from  one  dainty  pink  ear  to 
the  other. 

"Little  gal" — Jim  started  out  slowly  as  if  it 
were  an  awful  task  which  he  had  before  him,  and 
yet  he  knew  it  was  his  duty,  and  when  Jim  Brad- 
shaw knew  it  as  his  duty  to  do  a  thing  it  was 
usually  done. 

"Little  gal,  my  old  heart  nigh  breaks  because 
I  have  to  tell  you  this,  but  I  must  do  it — I  will 
start  from  the  first  and  won't  leave  nothin'  un- 
said, even  if  it  puts  me  in  the  worst  light  that 
shifts." 

"Daddy,  why  do  you  talk  that  way?  As  if  you 
could  ever  say  anything  that  would  put  you  in 
any  light  but  that  of  the  most  tender  and  most 
thoughtful " 

"Not  so  fast,  little  un,  not  so  fast — "  Jim  Brad- 
shaw held  up  his  hand  as  if  to  ward  off  a  blow. 
"You  mustn't  say  anything  you'll  have  to  back 
up  on.  Listen!  Nineteen  year  ago,  when  I  was 
a-livin'  back  in  the  states,  a  feller  come  to  me  an' 
he  says:  'Jim  Bradshaw,  you  are  the  meanes' 
man  in  the  state  of  Maine,  an'  I've  got  a  job  for 


OTHER  STORIES 


you  thet  will  jist  about  suit  your  character.  It'll 
pay  you  plenty,  and  all  you've  got  to  do  is  to 
give  me  your  word  .thet  you'll  carry  out  my  di- 
rections. Jim  Bradshaw,  you've  got  only  one 
feature  thet  ain't  clean  to  the  bad,  and  thet's 
your  word;  once  given,  hell  couldn't  break  it!'" 

"But,  Daddy " 

"Don't  interrupt  me,  tyke,  I  must  keep  a-goin' 
now  that  I've  started — he  says:  'Jim  Bradshaw, 
onct  I  loved  a  woman  and  she  loved  me.  Do  you 
know  what's  contained  in  them  eight  words,  Jim? 
They  embody  ever'thing  this  earth  ever  held  or 
could  hope  to  hold,  and  part  of  heaven — jist  them 
eight  words,  "Onct  I  loved  a  woman  and  she 
loved  me."  But  I'm  a-wanderin'  away  from  my 
story. 

"  'Jist  a  little  while  before  our  weddin'  day  a 
man  came  to  town  from  some  place  in  England. 
He  wa'n't  a  man ;  he  was  a  blamed  poor  imitation 
of  one,  but  we  got  it  straight  goods  thet  he  was 
titled.  Thet  is,  he  didn't  have  no  title  then,  as 
he  had  a  brother  older  than  him,  but  the  fact  that 
some  day  he  would  maybe  have  a  title  made  all 
the  gals  forgit  what  a  pup  he  was. 

"  'Of  course  he  picked  out  the  gal  thet  belonged 
to  me,  'cause  she  was  the  purtiest,  sweetest  and 
best  that  ever  trod  dirt,  and  her  pa  was  purty 
well  heeled. 

"  'It  didn't  take  long  for  him  to  get  all  kinds 
qf  idees  into  her  head  about  his  home  in  England, 
and  how  some  day  she  would  be  a  duchess,  and 
the  little  gal  run  away  one  night  and  married 
him.  Jim,  two  year  ago  she  died — died  with  a 
broken  heart,  and  she  left  a  little  un  jist  the  pic- 
ture of  her ;  and  Jim,  as  mean  as  that  man  treated 
that  little  tyke's  mother,  he  worships  the  child. 

"  'Kin  you  see  my  revenge?  He  took  away  all 
that  I  ever  loved  on  this  earth,  now  I'm  a-goin' 


DEATH   VALLEY   SLIM 


to  take  away  all  he  ever  loved.  What  I  want  you 
to  do  is  to  kidnap  this  young  un  and  take  her  out 
into  some  God-forsaken  country  where  nobody'll 
find  you,  where  they  won't  ever  think  of  lookin' 
for  you.  I  want  you  to  keep  her  there  in  igno- 
rance of  everything;  don't  let  her  go  to  school; 
don't  let  her  have  no  book  learnin'  of  any  kind, 
and  Jim,  when  I  am  dead  your  contract  ends — 
then  you  can  do  as  you  please  to,  but  as  long  as 
I  am  a-livin' — you're  bound.' 

"Little  gal,"  Jim  spoke  with  a  trembling  voice, 
his  great  frame  shaking  like  a  reed  in  the  wind, 
"thet  man  died  this  day,  month." 

The  Princess  sat  dazed.  "Daddy,"  she  whis- 
pered, "that  isn't  me,  is  it?" 

The  old  man  bent  his  head. 

"But,  Daddy,  if  you  gave  him  your  word  that 
you  would  not  educate  me,  why  did  you  do  it?" 

"My  contract  was  thet  you  shouldn't  go  to 
school,  thet  you  shouldn't  have  no  book  learnin'. 
I  brought  a  teacher  to  you;  she  didn't  teach  you 
one  word  out  of  books;  all  you  know  has  been 
told  to  you.  Wa'n't  it  enough  fer  me  to  bring 
you  out  into  this  wild  place  where  you  couldn't 
have  no  comforts  of  any  kind,  where  you'd  never 
see  any  people  of  your  own  class  —  wa'n't  it 
enough  to  do  that  instead  of  raisin'  you  to  be  like 
'em?" 

"  'Course  you'll  be  green  in  the  eyes  of  your 
pa's  people,  but,  thank  heaven,  it's  the  kind  of 
greenness  that  will  wear  off,  because  your  quick 
wit  can  catch  up  all  they  knew  before  they  have 
time  to  see  it." 

"You  don't  mean  you're  going  to  send  me  to 
him,  do  you,  Daddy?  He  doesn't  need  to  know 
where  I  am,  does  he?  Why  can't  you " 

"Yes,  he  knows  where  you  are,  'cause  I  writ 
and  told  him  four  weeks  ago.  He'll  be  here  to- 


-: 


OTHER  STORIES 


morrow  to  take  you  back  to  the  home  you  should 
uv  been  in  all  this  time ;  to  take  you  back  among 
the  people  you  belong  among,  to  the  comforts 
and  luxuries  you  was  born  to— he's  a  duke,  little 
un,  he's  a  duke ! 

"You  won't  never  get  to  see  your  old  Daddy 
any  more,  but  all  he  asks  is  for  you  not  to  con- 
demn him  too  much,  'cause  he  loves  you  more 
than  the  earth  or  the  sky,  and  you've  made  a  man 
out  of  him ;  you've  made  a  man  out  of  the  biggest 
villain  in  the  state  of  Maine!" 

The  Princess  was  crying,  wildly,  with  a  grief 
such  as  she  had  never  known  before.  "Daddy," 
she  sobbed,  "why  did  you  let  him  know?  I  don't 
want  to  go — I  want  to  stay  here  always — I  want 
my  everyday  duties  to  make  a  difference  in  some- 
body's comfort.  I  love  these  mountains  and  the 
kind  old  hearts  in  Green  Gulch.  It  isn't  right 
that  I  should  be  raised  to  this  life  and  suddenly 
be  torn  up  and  transplanted  to  another  world. 
Do  you  think  that  if  you  tore  up  one  of  our  beau- 
tiful ferns  from  its  cool  nook  under  a  rock  and 
planted  it  under  the  blaze  of  Arizona's  sun  it 
would  live?  You  see,  Daddy,  you  and  Ben " 

"Tyke — you'll  have  to  go.  He's  your  father; 
you  are  all  he's  got  and  it  means  a  heap  to  you. 
You'll  have  everything  you  could  wish  for  — 
you'll  have  servants  on  ever'  hand,  jist  achin'  to 
do  your  biddin',  and  admirers  by  the  houseful. 
You  won't  be  a  duchess — you'll  be  a  queen!" 

Jim  Bradshaw  leaned  over  with  his  head  be- 
tween his  great  brown  hands  and  muttered  to 
himself,  "My  mother  usto  tell  me  some  kind  of  a 
story  when  I  was  a  striplin'  about  a  man  not  hav- 
ing any  greater  love  than  to  die  for  a  feller — but 
dyin's  easy — easy — it's  the  livin'  that  sticks." 


DEATH  VALLEY  SLIM 


The  most  exciting  day  Green  Gulch  ever  ex- 
perienced was  the  day  that  a  real  duke  visited  it 
and  carried  away  with  him  the  Princess. 

Everybody  in  the  camp  gathered  around  the 
stage  coach  for  a  last  good-bye.  Old  men  who 
had  not  walked  farther  than  a  few  steps  at  a  time 
for  years;  children  who  had  never  received  any- 
thing but  the  tenderest  kindness  from  her  hands; 
the  hard-working  housewives  of  the  camp,  giving 
dabs  at  their  eyes  with  their  freshly  laundered 
aprons ;  horny-handed  miners  who  had  always  re- 
ceived a  pleasant  greeting  when  they  passed  her 
cabin.  The  Princess,  changed  not  a  whit  by  her 
rise  from  a  cabin  to  a  palace,  bade  each  one  good- 
bye in  the  gracious  manner  which  had  endeared 
her  to  them  all,  while  her  father  looked  upon  the 
motley  crowd  with  evident  disgust. 

Two  people  were  absent  at  the  last  farewell. 
The  Princess  watched  in  vain  for  them,  and  even 
after  the  coach  had  started,  she  watched  as  far 
as  her  eyes  could  reach,  but  Jim  Bradshaw  and 
Ben  Stanton  were  nowhere  to  be  seen. 


The  weeks  dragged  into  months,  and  Jim  Brad- 
shaw, humbled  and  cast  down,  showing  plainly 
that  man  does  not  wait  until  the  next  world  for 
all  of  his  punishment,  was  seen  every  day  going 
to  and  from  his  work.  Where  at  one  time  he  was 
so  gruff  and  surly  he  was  now  kindly  and  genial ; 
the  children  of  the  camp  lost  their  fear  of  him 
and  grew  to  know  him  as  their  friend. 

One  evening  he  came  home  very  much  de- 
pressed ;  all  day  long  his  thoughts  had  been  with 
the  Princess.  A  letter  which  he  had  received 
from  her  only  a  few  days  before  had  opened  the 
wound.  It  described  the  splendor  of  her  sur- 
roundings, and  the  sights  she  was  seeing  with  all 


t>lND  OTHER  STORIES 


of  the  freshness  of  her  young  soul.  But  through 
the  whole  letter  a  strain  of  homesickness  ran,  an 
undercurrent,  as  it  were,  which  would  have  gone 
unnoticed  by  anyone  else  save  Jim  Bradshaw. 

In  his  absent-mindedness  he  failed  to  notice  the 
suppressed  excitement  of  the  camp.  Faces  peer- 
ing at  him  from  the  windows  did  not  attract  his 
attention.  Even  when  he  saw  a  light  glimmering 
from  his  window  he  mentally  commented  that 
Ben  was  seeking  his  old  haunts  again. 

And  he  was  not  mistaken,  for  Ben  was  wait- 
ing for  him,  but  just  behind  him,  peeking  around 
in  the  same  mischievous  way  that  he  had  loved 
so  much,  was  a  face  wreathed  with  yellow  curls, 
and  a  voice  that  seemed  to  come  out  of  the 
dreams  he  had  had  all  day,  said,  "Daddy,  the  fern 
didn't  like  Arizona's  sun." 

The  Princess  had  returned  unto  her  own. 


HE  desert  sun,  sinking  over  the  horizon, 
left  a  glory  of  crimson,  turquoise  and 
gold,  changing  as  if  by  magic,  the 
monotonous  brown  of  the  barren  hills  to  such  a 
beauty  as  defies  the  artist's  uttermost  skill.  The 
last  rays  lingered  caressingly  upon  a  pile  of  ore — 
ore  that  looked  as  if  it  were  solidified  sunbeams, 
for  it  glittered  and  smiled  back  at  the  sun,  seem- 
ingly recognizing  relationship  —  ore  with  riches 
untold,  laid  bare  by  the  faithful  pick  of  the  weary, 
almost  discouraged  prospectors.  Gold  enough  in 
sight  to  make  a  man  mad — unbounded  wealth, 
which  meant  the  reward  of  years  of  privation  and 
hardships  and  the  realization  of  long  deferred 
hopes. 

By  the  side  of  this  wonderful  gift  of  Mother 
Earth  stood  two  men — the  one,  upright  and  com- 
pelling, with  a  steady  blue  eye  that  could  look 
squarely  at  any  man;  the  other,  stooped  and 
shrinking,  with  a  shifting  eye  that  evaded  the  di- 
rect look  of  his  own  dog. 

They  looked  into  one  another's  eyes,  each  feel- 
ing the  question  that  was  in  the  other's  mind. 
The  taller  man  spoke  first: 

"I  guess  it's  up  to  us,  Hank;  what  do  you 
think?" 


The  little  man  shifted  from  one  foot  to  the 
other.  "What's  up  to  us?  Nothing  but  to  cash 
in  a  little  of  this  dope  we've  hit,  I  reckon." 

"Now,  don't  try  to  retrench,  Hank,  because 
that  don't  go  with  me.  You  know  when  you  tried 
to  do  away  with  me  last  winter,  when  you 
thought  you  had  found  the  pay  dirt,  you  queered 
yourself  for  a  partner,  and  it's  only  been  the  fear 
of  this  .45  that  has  kept  you  decent  this  long. 
This  little  document,  signed  up  by  us  both,  is 
what  we  go  on  now.  I  am  willing  to  give  you  a 
square  deal  on  it  and  we'll  start  tonight.  I  will 
just  read  this  over  before  we  start.  Understand 
you  keep  your  hand  out  of  reach  of  this  paper. 
If  you  make  a  move  while  I'm  reading  it,  I'll  plug 
you." 

The  man  sullenly  moved  away  a  few  yards, 
while  the  other  produced  from  a  buckskin  wallet 
a  piece  of  brown  paper,  from  which  he  read: 

"We,  the  undersigned,  do  make  this 
agreement:  That  when  we  uncover  pay  ore 
we  will  start  from  this  camp  at  the  same 
time,  going  in  whatever  direction  we  choose, 
and  that  the  first  man  who  places  upon  the 
dump  ten  thousand  dollars  ($10,000)  he 
shall  be  the  sole  owner  of  the  aforesaid 


DEATH  VALLEY   SLIM 


claim.    The  other  party  agrees  to  accept  the 

ten  thousand  dollars  as  payment  in  full  for 

his  share. 

"Signed    PRICE   HOWARD. 

HENRY   BASHFORD." 

"I  think  you  understand  that  all  right,  Hank. 
Of  course,  not  being  versed  in  law,  it  possibly 
does  not  sound  as  legal,  or  has  nbt  as  much  form 
as  it  should  have,  but  I  think  it  will  hold  without 
any  trouble.  There  is  no  use  to  mince  matters 
any,  Hank  —  we  are  partners,  but  not  friends. 
There  is  no  need  for  me  to  tell  you  my  opinion 
of  you;  you  know  what  that  is.  You  may  be 
hung  some  day  for  murder,  but  never  for  kill- 
ing a  man.  The  man  who  falls  from  your  gun 
will  have  the  bullet  in  his  back." 

"Guess  you  haven't  much  edge  to  go  on.  If  I 
remember  correctly,  some  ten  years  ago  you 
wasn't  above  a  little  game  of  chance,  with  a  rattle 
of  chips  to  it,  yourself." 

"In  this  country  it  isn't  what  a  man  once  was, 
Hank,  it's  what  he  now  is.  But  we  are  wasting 
time.  It  is  now  half  past  four — at  five  we  leave 
this  camp.  I  don't  know  which  way  you  are  go- 
ing. I  am  going  to  Goldfield.  We  will  both  have 
to  walk,  but  we  can  come  back  any  way  that  we 
see  fit." 

The  men  worked  silently,  covering  the  ore  so 
recently  uncovered,  making  the  camp  look  like 
an  abandoned  one. 

Just  at  five  each  man  swung  his  canteen  over, 
his  shoulder  and  faced  in  opposite  directions. 
Hank  called  back  over  his  shoulder:  "Kid,  I'm 
thinking  that  you'll  have  a  run  for  your  money. 
I've  got  eight  miles  the  best  of  you." 

Howard  volunteered  no  answer,  but  struck  out 
with  long,  easy  strides  across  the  desert.  Thirty 
miles  against  Hank's  twenty-two.  Would  he  make 
it?  The  months  of  prospecting,  with  their  days 


OTHER   STORIES 


and  days  of  walking,  were  now  showing  their  ef- 
fect, and  mile  after  mile  was  covered  without 
causing  any  fatigue. 

The  moon  rose  after  a  while,  drenching  in  a 
soft,  white  blaze  the  stretch  of  echoless,  shadow- 
less  waste  that  lay  before,  taking  away  a  part  of 
the  loneliness  that  enveloped  him.  Surely  he  was 
in  a  world  apart,  a  great  recumbent,  sleeping 
world;  not  a  leaf  or  twig  to  catch  the  faint  south 
wind;  not  a  bird,  or  any  living  thing  to  murmur 
drowsily  at  his  passing.  But,  strange  to  say,  the 
man's  thoughts  were  far  from  the  scene  before 
him,  far  from  his  treacherous  partner,  and  far 
from  the  new  wealth  that  was  hanging  in  the  bal- 
ance. All  these  things  vanished,  as  had  the  col- 
ors of  the  sunset,  and  left  his  thoughts  in  a  little 
four-roomed  adobe  house  in  the  town  toward 
which  his  face  was  set.  There  he  could  see  a 
brown-eyed,  brown-haired  girl,  with  a  sweet, 
wistful  face.  He  was  wondering  whether  he  dared 
delay  long  enough  to  see  her  and  get  one  kiss 
from  the  pure,  sweet  lips,  but  he  knew  that  even 
ten  minutes  lost  might  mean  failure  and  the 
strong  heart  within  him  decided  that  his  duty 
lay  in  securing  that  fortune  that  he  might  reward 
her  patient  waiting,  faith  and  loyalty. 

His  muscles  grew  sore  and  finally  numb  until 
his  whole  body  was  like  some  automatic  machine 
that  could  not  stop.  The  myriad  indefinable 
noises  seemed  to  be  chanting  to  him,  "Hurry! 
hurry!"  The  sand  grew  heavy  and  his  feet  heav- 
ier; he  wondered  momentarily  where  he  was  go- 
ing— then  he  remembered  and  he  wondered  how 
many  weeks  he  had  been  walking.  Once  a  coyote 
barked  and  it,  too,  said  "Hurry !"  and  he  tried  to 
walk  faster. 

Reaching  into  his  hip  pocket  for  his  handker- 
chief, he  felt  the  specimens  he  was  carrying  in, 
and  the  contact  with  them  gave  him  renewed 


-•mi 


DEATH  VALLEY  SLIM 


courage.  The  sharp,  cold  air  struck  him,  and 
shivering,  he  drew  his  coat  together  and  buttoned 
it,  wondering  why  he  had  not  thought  of  it  be- 
fore. 

At  last  the  lights  of  Goldfield  came  into  sight 
and  his  heart  leaped.  Only  a  few  more  miles, 
but  each  mile  now  seemed  a  league. 

On  and  on  he  pressed  until  Main  street  was 
reached,  then  he  stopped.  He  pulled  out  his 
watch  and  noted  the  time.  In  a  dazed  way  he 
stood  watching  the  second-hand  revolving,  then 
he  felt  a  friendly  slap  on  the  shoulder  and  heard 
a  familiar  voice  saying:  "Hello,  Price,  old  man! 
When  did  you  get  in?  How's  the  prospect?  You 
look  fagged  out." 

"George !"  His  hand  grasped  that  of  his  friend 
in  an  iron  grasp.  "You  are  the  man  I  have 
walked  thirty  miles  to  see.  I  need  you." 

"All  right.  I'm  yours  to  command.  But  don't 
stand  here!  Come  up  to  my  office.  You  haven't 
been  here  since  this  building  was  put  up,  have 
you?" 

Howard  sank  gratefully  into  a  luxurious  office 
chair,  and  immediately  began  to  tell  his  story  to 
his  friend.  When  he  had  finished,  he  said,  "Can 
you  get  ten  thousand  dollars  for  me  inside  of  an 
hour?" 

The  serenity  of  his  friend  was  as  unruffled  as 
if  he  had  been  asked  the  time  of  day  or  to  have 
a  cigar.  He  sat  for  a  moment  in  deep  thought 
and  then  answered,  "I  will  have  to  hustle  a  little, 
if  I  do.  Don't  suppose  a  check  would  do,  would 
it?" 

"No,  it  has  to  be  currency.  And  for  God's  sake, 
hurry !  Hank  has  eight  miles  the  best  of  me,  and 
it's  millions  at  stake — millions!" 

"There's  a  bottle  of  'Old  Taylor'  in  the  other 
room ;  you'd  better  take  a  drop.  I'll  be  back  soon. 
Make  yourself  comfortable." 


'*** 


OTHER   STORIES 


The  last  few  words  were  all  but  lost  on  How- 
ard, who  was  already  falling  asleep.  He  was 
aroused  in  a  short  time  by  his  friend's  voice  say- 
ing, "Here  you  are,  old  boy !  A  bunch  of  fellows 
were  going  into  'Frisco  in  the  morning  and  I  just 
delayed  them  one  day.  What  they  had  made  a 
pretty  neat  jack-pot,  and  it  was  easy  to  make  up 
the  rest.  My  machine  will  be  here  in  a  minute 
and  you  can  sleep  in  the  back  seat.  I  will  wake 
you  up  only  long  enough  to  get  directions." 

Howard  put  the  packet  of  bills  on  the  inside  of 
his  flannel  shirt,  then  gave  his  hand  to  his  friend. 
"Thank  you,  old  man,  and  thank  you  for  the  offer 
of  the  machine;  but  there  is  a  possibility  of  even 
the  best  automobile  breaking  down,  and  there  is 
no  possibility  of  my  little  pinto's  breaking  down. 
I'll  'phone  to  the  stable  and  they'll  have  her  ready 
by  the  time  I  get  there.  You  know  I  left  her 
here  for — for  the  use  of  a  friend  of  mine.  I  would 
rather  trust  to  a  fagged-out  horse  than  a  disabled 
automobile.  George,  what  was  that  you  said 
about  a  jack-pot?  Oh  yes,  I  remember.  Good 
bye,  George !  If  I  get  to  the  Sunbeam  first,  you're 
half  and  half.  If  Hank  gets  there  first,  I'll  bring 
this  back." 

Down  the  familiar  street,  past  the  Nixon  block, 
with  a  glance  at  the  Palm  restaurant,  where  he 
had  had  many  jolly  dinners,  Howard  hurried.  A 
work  spoken  in  jest  burned  in  his  brain,  and  he 
repeated  to  himself,  "Jack-pot." 

A  few  minutes'  walk  brought  him  to  the  door 
of  the  Northern.  The  music  and  the  brilliancy 
of  its  lights  attracted  him — compelled  him  to  en- 
ter. The  months  of  exile  from  everything  that 
had  the  semblance  of  recreation  or  enjoyment 
crowded  before  him,  leading  him  to  forget  for 
the  moment  that  delay  was  ruin,  and  he  forced 
his  way  into  a  game.  He  forgot  the  bed  of  gold 
in  the  desert ;  he  forgot  the  partner  whose  soul 

^r 

•*=- 


DEATH   VALLEY   SLIM 


was  as  black  as  the  spades  that  he  held  in  his 
hand;  he  even  forgot  the  wistful  brown  eyes  that 
had  never  been  out  of  his  mind  for  a  moment 
since  he  had  first  seen  them. 

He  began  to  lose  and  the  excitement  grew  in- 
tense. The  men  all  knew  that  he  was  not  a  "play- 
ing man,"  and  a  crowd  of  onlookers  soon  gath- 
ered around. 

Gradually  his  pile  of  chips  began  to  dwindle 
down.  The  fever  got  into  his  blood,  and  he  grew 
reckless.  Thrusting  his  hand  into  the  bosom  of 
his  shirt,  he  drew  forth  a  thick  packet.  Throw- 
ing it  down  on  the  table,  he  exclaimed,  "There  is 
ten  thousand  dollars  in  bills !  Now  let's  see  if  we 
can't  have  a  real  game!" 

Something  about  his  appearance  made  the 
other  players  hesitate  as  though  to  decline  the 
challenge,  seeing  which  he  spoke  again — this  time 
with  a  hardly  concealed  sneer: 

"Well,  I'd  never  be  a  quitter,  whatever  else  I 
was." 

The  blood  rushed  to  the  face  of  one  of  his  op- 
ponents. 

"Quitter?  Hell!  I'll  just  cut  the  cards  with 
you,  best  two  in  three,  for  the  ten  thousand." 

This  time  it  was  Howard's  turn  to  hesitate,  but 
for  an  instant  only.  Then  he  began  to  shuffle  the 
cards. 

A  few  moments  later  he  arose  unsteadily  and 
walked  out.  Once  more  in  the  open  air,  with  the 
cool  breeze  fanning  his  hot  temples,  he  remem- 
bered, and  with  a  groan,  he  turned  and  staggered 
down  the  street.  His  pinto  hitched  in  the  block 
below,  whinnied  at  the  sight  of  him.  He  went  up 
to  her  and  laid  his  head  against  her  white  face. 

"Pinto,"  he  said,  his  voice  choking  with  emo- 
tion, "you  mustn't  love  me  any  more,  I'm  not  fit 
for  anybody  to  love — I  am  a  traitor  and  worse. 
I've  heard  that  we've  all  got  to  be  fools  once  in 


c>lND   OTHER  STORIES 


our  lives,  but  hooted  at  the  idea;  always  main- 
tained that  a  man  could  always  be  a  man.  God, 
why  couldn't  I  have  gotten  mine  when  it  didn't 
matter  so  much?" 

In  answer  the  pony  rubbed  her  nose  against 
his  sleeve,  caressingly,  as  if  to  say,  "You  have 
never  been  anything  but  a  friend  to  me;  why 
should  I  care  what  you  have  done  otherwise?" 

In  a  moment  his  whole  attitude  changed.  He 
squared  his  shoulders,  and  with  his  head  erect 
he  started  at  a  brisk  pace  up  the  street. 

At  the  foot  of  the  stairs  of  the  building  that 
he  had  left  an  hour  before,  he  stopped ;  then  again 
squaring  his  shoulders  he  mounted  the  stairs  and 
gave  a  thundering  knock  on  his  friend's  door. 
Upon  receiving  no  answer  he  pulled  out  his 
watch.  Of  course,  George  would  not  be  in  his 
office  at  that  hour. 

He  turned  and  slowly  retraced  his  steps.  When 
he  reached  the  street,  he  heard  the  puffing  of  an 
automobile,  and  to  his  intense  relief  he  saw  his 
friend  jump  out  and  rush  toward  him. 

"Howard,  we  thought  you  had  met  with  foul 
play.  We  saw  the  pinto  still  tied  down  there, 
and  we  have  been  searching  all  the  dark  corners 
for  you.  For  God's  sake,  boy,  you  are  as  white 
as  a  ghost!  What's  happened?" 

"Come  up  to  the  office  and  I'll  tell  you.  You 
didn't  look  in  the  darkest  corner.  Don't  touch 
me — I'm  not  fit  for  anybody  to  touch.  George, 
I've  taken  my  trip  up  Fool's  Hill,  all  in  one  hour. 
I  never  was  attracted  to  the  Hill  until  it  meant 
everything  that  the  world  holds — then  I  went  up 
with  full  steam.  I  gambled  away  your  ten  thous- 
and." 

George  coolly  unlocked  the  office  door  and 
they  went  in. 

"Is  that  all?" 

"Is  that  all?    God,  man,  what  more  could  it  be? 


''A.'--. 


DEATH  VALLEY  SLIM 


Isn't  that  enough?  After  ten  years,  too!  You'd 
think  a  fellow  could  down  the  devil  himself  in 
that  time.  But  there's  a  chance  for  me  to  make 
good  to  you,  even  though  I've  thrown  away  my 
own  chance.  Hank's  reputation  is  against  his 
raising  money  quickly — he  has  exploited  too 
many  wild-cats." 

Once  more  pulling  out  the  contract,  he  read: 
"  'The  first  man  who  places  upon  the  dump  ten 
thousand  dollars  ($10,000)  he  shall  be  the  sole 
owner  of  the  aforesaid  claim.'  You  see  that 
doesn't  specify  that  it  has  got  to  be  Hank  or  me 
— it  says  'the  first  man.'  You  can  put  it  on  there 
yourself  as  well  as  I  can.  I'll  show  you  the  way 
and  the  claim  is  yours." 

George  swung  his  chair  around  suddenly  and 
looked  Howard  square  in  the  eye.  "Price  How- 
ard," he  said  slowly,  "some  people  think  I  haven't 
the  morals  that  I  should  have,  and  maybe  I 
haven't.  But  as  low  as  they  might  think  me  or 
as  mean  as  I  might  be,  I  have  never  been  known 
to  turn  on  a  friend.  I  think  my  credit  is  good  at 
the  Northern  for  ten  thousand — I  always  find 
them  pretty  white  people — and  I  know  my  car  is 
good  for  thirty  miles  in  forty  minutes.  You  go 
and  wake  up  Jack,  while  I  go  to  the  Northern, 
and  he  can  run  you  out.  I'd  go  myself,  but  I'm 
too  blamed  sleepy.  I'll  attend  to  the  pinto  when 
you're  gone." 

Over  the  same  road  that  he  had  traveled  so 
wearily  a  few  hours  past,  Price  Howard  sped  in 
a  magnificent  automobile  built  especially  for  the 
desert  roads. 

The  chauffeur  who  knew  every  bolt  and  screw 
in  the  machine,  handled  it  with  a  master  hand  and 
urged  it  on  and  on.  With  an  almost  human  ef- 
fort the  machine  responded,  skimming  over  the 
sunbaked  desert,  super-heated  by  drinking  in  the 
heat  of  ten  thousand  summer  suns. 


.* 


cAND  OTHER  STORIES 


When  the  last  hill  was  rounded  and  the  camp 
came  into  sight,  Howard  leaned  forward,  clutch- 
ing the  wheel.  The  sight  which  met  his  eyes 
caused  him  to  sink  down  into  the  seat  with  an 
ashen  face.  A  drooping,  worn-out  horse  was  tied 
to  the  tent-stake  and  Hank  was  sitting  on  the 
dump! 

Upon  the  approach  of  the  automobile  Hank  sat 
up,  rubbing  his  sleepy  eyes.  "Well,"  he  drawled, 
"did  you  get  the  coin?" 

"No  need  to  ask  that — you  are  here  first,  and 
the  claim  is  yours." 

"You  are  dead  right  about  me  bein'  here  first, 
but  I  reckon  you  are  mistaken  about  the  claim 
a-bein'  mine." 

"What?" 

"I  said  that  you  was  mistaken  about  the  claim 
a-bein'  mine,  because  I  didn't  raise  no  money." 

"Hank  Bashford,  you  fool  with  me  and  I'll  kill 
you.  I  am  in  no  mood  for  jokes.  We  will  settle 
up  this  deal  and  I  will  get  out  just  as  we  agreed." 

"I  ain't  a-foolin',  Price;  wish  to  God  I  was,  but 
I  found  that  you  wasn't  the  only  one  that  mis- 
trusted me.  The  man  I  was  dependin'  on  was 
out  of  town." 

Howard  stood  as  if  turned  to  stone.  The  cer- 
tainty that  he  had  won,  brought  up  so  suddenly 
against  the  previous  certainty  that  he  had  lost, 
stunned  him.  His  senses  had  undergone  a  thous- 
and shocks  and  strains  within  the  last  twenty- 
four  hours,  until  they  seemed  impervious  to  any 
further  emotion. 

Mechanically  he  held  out  the  bag  containing 
the  money.  "You  can  count  it,  Hank,  and  see  if 
it  is  all  there." 

"Do  you  say  that  it  is  all  there?" 

"All  I  have  is  my  friend's  word  that  it  is,  and 
that  is  enough  for  me." 

"Well,  I  reckon  it's  enough  for  me,  too,"  and, 

tr" 


/      , 

\.:     '" 


/ 


DEATH  VALLEY  SLIM 


stuffing  the  bag  into  his  pocket,  he  went  on:  "I 
wish  you  luck,  Kid!  You  are  on  the  square. 
Shake.  Good  bye!" 

Howard  watched  him  walk  away,  his  head 
down,  and  a  dejected  droop  to  his  shoulders,  and 
a  wave  of  pity  swept  over  him.  The  night,  with 
all  of  its  horrors,  came  up  before  him,  and  he 
muttered  under  his  breath,  "There  is  so  much 
bad  in  the  best  of  us,  and  so  much  good  in  the 
worst  of  us — "  Then,  coming  to  himself  with  a 
start,  he  called,  "Hank,  Hank.  Just  a  minute! 
I  want  to  say  that  when  this  mine  is  sold,  you 
will  find  one-fourth  of  the  money  deposited  to 
your  credit  in  Cook's  Bank.  The  half  goes  to 
the  man  who  raised  that  money  you  have  in  your 
pocket.  By  the  way,  Hank,  you'd  better  not  hit 
out  across  this  lonesome  country  without  a  gun. 
Here's  mine — take  it  along." 

Hank  gulped.  "You'd  trust  me  with  a  gun,  and 
you  unarmed?" 

For  answer  Howard  drew  the  trusty  .45  and 
handed  it  over  to  Hank  without  a  word.  Then, 
starting  toward  the  tent,  he  said:  "Let's  have 
some  breakfast,  boys!  I  wonder,  Hank,  if  you'd 
mind  staying  here  while  I  go  to  town.  There  is 
a — a — party,  over  there,  whom  I  haven't  seen  for 
a  year  and  I  have  a  little  story  I  want  to  tell  to 
her.  Would  you  mind  staying?" 

"I'd  stay  in  an  egg  shell  for  you,  Kid.  But 
say — I  don't  want  more  out  of  this  thing  than  you 
are  getting.  You  take  this  bag  back  to  your 
friend,  and  tell  him  that  he's  share  and  share 
alike  with  us.  And,  Kid,  you  might  just  mention 
to  him  that  there  don't  have  to  be  no  signed  con- 
tract to  that  effect,  because,  from  now  on,  Hank 
Bashford's  word  will  be  as  good  as  any  man's 
bond.  You  know  in  this  country  it  ain't  what 
a  man  once  was — it's  what  he  is  now." 

"You're  dead  right,  Hank.     We're  friends." 


HE  sun  rose  slowly  over  the  hills — almost 
cautiously,  as  if  it  were  infringing  upon 
some  domain  other  than  its  own,  for  the 
ground  was  covered  with  snow.  The  glittering 
trees  and  shrubs  were  sparkling  with  snow,  and, 
as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach,  nothing  could  be 
seen  but  snow. 

A  snow  storm  on  the  Fourth  of  July!  The  lit- 
tle mining  camp  had  survived  many  and  varied 
experiences,  but  this  was  the  first  time  in  its  his- 
tory that  it  had  looked  upon  a  white  earth  on  the 
Fourth  of  July. 

Shorty  Roberts  arose  with  a  stretch  and  a 
yawn  and  looked  out  of  the  tiny  window  of  his 
cabin  in  amazement.  "By  all  that's  strange  and 
uncertain,  if  we  ain't  havin*  a  white  Fourth! 
Hurrah  for  the  glorious  Fourth !  Wake  up,  there, 
you  unpatriotic  piece  of  human  natur,  and  let's 
have  a  sleigh  ride." 

Barr  dander,  the  "unpatriotic  piece  of  human 
natur,"  got  up  reluctantly  and,  rubbing  his  eyes 
in  a  vain  effort  at  clearing  his  vision,  drawled, 
"Well,  it's  a  sure  thing  we  never  lack  for  excite- 
ment in  this  camp.  If  we  run  out  of  material 
ourselves,  Nature  takes  a  hand  and  surprises  us. 
This  will  probably  be  the  occasion  of  a  certain 


DEATH   VALLEY  SLIM 


young  feller  I  am  acquainted  with  a  dismountin' 
from  the  high  horse  he  got  on  to  some  four  year 
ago." 

Shorty,  whose  six  feet  of  stature  belied  his  nick- 
name, colored  like  a  schoolgirl  as  a  wave  of  rec- 
ollection swept  over  him.  Whether  it  was  a  re- 
minder of  something  pleasant  or  unpleasant  it 
would  have  been  hard  to  determine,  as  his  face 
did  not  betray  him. 

"Crackey!"  he  finally  ejaculated,  "I'd  plum  for- 
got all  about  that.  Barr,  you've  got  entirely  too 
good  a  memory  for  the  welfare  of  your  friends. 
I  don't  just  exactly  recollect  the  particulars  of 
that  resolve,  and  don't  know  as  I  want  to." 

"Well,  I  think  I  can  help  you  out  on  the  re- 
membrance part.  I've  got  a  pretty  good  pictur 
in  my  mind  of  a  high-tempered  spit-fired  chap  a 
makin'  a  remark  that  'not  till  snow  fell  on  the 
Fourth  of  July' " 

"Oh,  I  recollect  that  all  right,  and  I  know  that  a 
feller's  word  has  got  to  be  as  good  as  his  bond 
out  here;  but,  Barr,  nobody  but  you  knows  I 
made  that  remark " 

"Don't  you  fool  yourself.  There's  one  more 
as  knows  it,  and  it's  my  opinion  that  if  prayers 
is  answered  they've  had  somethin'  to  do  with  the 
inclemency  of  the  weather  this  mornin'." 

"Do  you  think  She  remembers?  Do  you  reckon, 
Barr,  that  She  would  be  lookin'  for  me  this  mor- 
ning? Do  you  s'pose  it  would  make  any  differ- 
ence if — I  didn't  show  up?" 

"This  ain't  my  day  to  reckon,  but  I  do  reckon 
this  much,  that  if  a  man  ain't  man  enough  to  keep 
his  word  he  can't  bunk  with  me  no  longer,  even 
if  he  has  feasted  and  famined  with  me  for  the  last 
fifteen  year.  Another  thing  I  reckon  is  that  spuds 
and  bacon  look  good  to  me,  but  I  ain't  one  of 
them  raw  food  cranks.  I  prefer  'em  to  go  through 
their  old  fashioned  process  of  cookin'.  Get  busy 


cAND   OTHER   STORIES 


— put  on  the  coffee  pot  while  I  peel  the  spuds. 
This  pay  streak  business  ain't  agreein'  with  you." 

Shorty,  for  once,  was  not  talkative.  The  prep- 
arations for  breakfast  went  on  without  his  as- 
sistance; nor  did  he  come  out  of  his  reverie  until 
Barr  had  spoken  to  him  twice  and  had  shoved  a 
cup  of  steaming  coffee  at  his  elbow. 

Looking  over  the  outlay  for  breakfast,  he  shook 
his  head.  "Don't  feel  much  like  eatin'  this  mor- 
ning. This  freak  of  the  elements  has  kind  of  up- 
set me.  Barr,  have  you  seen  Her  lately?" 

Barr  leisurely  sipped  his  coffee  and  wiped  his 
mustache  methodically  before  he  answered. 

"Thought  you'd  get  around  to  it  after  so  long 
a  time.  Yep,  I  seen  her  the  last  time  I  was  over 
the  hill.  She  gets  better  lookin'  ever  day.  They 
tell  me  she  ain't  havin'  the  easiest  time  in  the 
world  since  her  school  has  dropped  off  so.  You 
know  when  the  Wilkins  and  the  Simpsons  went 
away  it  left  only  nine  children,  which  is  a  pretty 
poor  assay.  But  I  don't  reckon  she  needs  to 
worry  much,  for  they  tell  me  that  the  feller  from 
the  city  wants  to  marry  her  as  soon  as  school's 
out.  Do  you  know,  I  shouldn't  wonder  but  it 
would  be  a  good  scheme  for  her  to  tack  on  to  him. 
He  certainly  ain't  short  on  cash."  His  eyes  nar- 
rowed into  slits,  and  he  peered  at  Shorty  through 
the  blue  rings  of  smoke  that  curled  from  his  pipe. 

Shorty  squirmed. 

"He's  prob'ly  goin'  to  take  her  somewhere  to- 
day." His  eyes  scanned  Barr's  in  the  hope  of  a 
refutation  of  this 'statement,  but  Barr  was  relent- 
less. 

"Shouldn't  wonder.  He'd  be  a  pretty  slow 
proposition  if  he  wasn't.  Don't  think  from  what 
I  can  collect  that  he's  a  dead  one.  However, 
that  don't  concern  the  remark  you  made  some 
four  year  ago,  that  not  till  it  snowed  on  the 
Fourth  of  July  would  you  ask  that  sweet  little 


DEATH   VALLEY  SLIM 


scrap  of  a  gal  to  forgive  you  for  bein'  such  a 
blamed  idiot.  If  my  eyes  don't  deceive  me,  I'm 
thinkin'  that  the  time  has  come." 

He  struck  another  match  and  slowly  relighted 
his  pipe,  resuming  his  conversation,  but  speaking 
as  though  to  himself. 

"A  gal  as  is  attractive  don't  have  to  waste  her 
life  a  mournin'  over  one  man  as  prefers  to  be  an 
idiot.  There's  too  many  men  in  this  world  that 
knows  how  to  appreciate  a  good  woman's  love. 
(There's  durned  few  that  knows  how  rare  real 
love  is.)  Of  course,  four  year  is  'bout  time 
enough  for  anybody  to  forget,  and  then  time  of- 
ten changes  a  feller's  taste.  Now  a  few  year  ago 
nothin'  but  Duke's  Mixture  would  do  for  me, 
but  now  I  won't  smoke  nothin'  but  Bull  Dur- 
ham." 

"That's  all  true,  Barr,  but  a  long  time  ago  I 
read  a  poem  about  a  woman  that  didn't  care,  and 
you  know  when  She  turned  me  down  I  didn't 
have  a  cent  to  bless  myself  with,  while  now " 

Barr  Clander  jerked  his  chair  around  suddenly, 
causing  the  smoldering  tobacco  in  his  pipe  to 
scatter  over  the  remainder  of  the  breakfast.  He 
eyed  Shorty  for  a  moment  in  silence,  then  said, 
"And  all  these  years  I've  given  you  credit  for  a 
sound  mind.  Shorty,  them  words  ain't  worthy  of 
you,  nor  of  anybody  that  knows  her.  If  she'd 
a  wanted  money,  reckon  she  could  have  married 
Newt  Ames  when  he  was  so  crazy  over  her,  and 
I'm  of  the  opinion  that  she  wouldn't  keep  that 
city  chap  a  waitin'  so  long  if  she  was  so  allfired 
fond  of  cash." 

Shorty's  eyes  flashed.  "First  I  knew  of  Newt 
Ames'  shinin'  up  to  her.  He  ain't  worthy  to  tie 
her  shoe  strings.  What  do  you  know  about  it?" 

"Never  mind  what  I  know  about  it.  If  I  was 
you  I'd  lose  no  time  a  saddlin'  Bluestreak  and 
I'd  hit  the  other  side  of  that  hill  before  the  sun 


OTHER   STORIES 


could  melt  off  that  little  patch  of  snow.  It's  so 
small,  anyways,  it's  got  you  guessin'  whether  it's 
frost  or  alkali." 

Shorty  shook  the  ashes  out  of  his  pipe  and  put 
it  in  his  pocket.  Then  he  walked  over  to  the 
looking  glass  and  surveyed  himself.  "Guess  I'll 
shave,  and  you  might  trim  my  hair  a  trifle.  This 
being  the  Fourth,  a  feller  ought  to  kind  of  dress 
up  a  little." 

When,  finally  fixed  in  a  manner  pleasing  to 
himself,  Shorty  galloped  away,  Barr  went  into 
the  cabin  and  indulged  in  a  hearty  laugh; 
"Reckon  there  ain't  any  bigger  fools  in  the  world 
than  them  that's  in  love.  They  have  to  be  han- 
dled different,  too.  Some  has  to  be  pushed  along 
all  the  time  and  encouraged,  while  the  others  has 
to  be  let  alone;  some  has  to  be  handled  rough 
and  be  scared,  while  others  has  to  be  handled 
tender;  but  they  all  come  out  at  the  same  place 
in  the  final  clean-up." 

The  morning  passed  away  slowly  for  Clander. 
The  sun  had  been  victor  over  the  Snow  King 
and  a  tiny  patch  in  some  shady  corner  was  all  the 
evidence  left  that  there  had  been  any  snow. 
Clander  had  eaten  a  solitary  dinner,  and  bade  fair 
to  eat  a  solitary  supper — and  he  wondered. 

As  the  day  waned  he  began  to  worry.  He  loved 
Shorty  with  the  love  of  a  David,  and,  knowing 
that  the  outcome  of  his  quest  meant  everything 
to  him,  feared  the  consequences  of  a  disappoint- 
ment. His  imagination  ran  riot.  He  pictured  all 
sorts  of  impossible  things  until  he  could  do 
nothing  but  pace  the  floor  of  the  cabin.  Pipe 
after  pipe  of  tobacco  was  consumed  absent  mind- 
edly,  while  the  last  spark  of  fire  in  the  sheet  iron 
stove  flickered  and  went  out.  Still  the  anxious 
friend  paced  the  cabin,  stopping  once  in  a  while 
to  scan  the  winding  mountain  road  for  some  mov- 
ing object. 


DEATH  VALLEY   SLIM 


At  length,  unable  to  control  his  impatience  any 
longer,  he  jerked  his  coat  off  the  hook,  hastily 
latched  the  cabin  door  and  in  an  incredibly  short 
time  was  in  his  saddle,  starting  over  the  same 
trail  that  Shorty  had  traveled  in  the  early  mor- 
ning. 

His  journey  was  suddenly  interrupted  by  a 
vision  from  the  hill-top  which  caused  his  kindly, 
weather-beaten  old  face  to  radiate  with  pleasure, 
for  the  hill-side  was  literally  covered  with  people 
in  holiday  dress.  In  the  fore-front  beamed  the 
smiling  face  of  Shorty,  who  looked  with  tender 
devotion  on  the  sweet  faced  girl  beside  him. 

One  of  the  boys  rode  ahead  of  the  crowd,  and 
hastened  to  enlighten  Clander  regarding  the  unu- 
sual procession.  "You  see,"  he  said,  "they 
wouldn't  have  the  weddin'  in  town  lest  you  was 
there,  and  we  thought  that  time  we  got  over  here 
and  back  with  you  it  would  make  it  pretty  late, 
so  we  all  just  come  along  and  we're  goin'  to  have 
an  outdoor  affair  right  here.  That's  her  ma  and 
the  preacher  in  the  buck-board  yonder.  They's 
only  two  people  left  in  camp  and  that's  the  night 
marshal  and  the  city  chap,  and  I  reckon  the  city 
chap  was  too  busy  packin*  that  flat  valise  of  his'n 
to  come  along.  You  ain't  goin'  anywhere,  are 
you,  Barr?" 

"Nope — just  gettin'  back  ...  I  think,  Shorty, 
we  might  change  the  name  of  the  'Little  Queen' 
to  the  'Fourth  of  July,  Consolidated.' " 

Shorty  grasped  Barr's  hand  with  a  grip  of  iron 
and  said,  "Anything  you  suggest  is  O.  K.,  Barr. 
You're  the  pure  stuff."  Then,  dropping  his  voice 
to  a  whisper,  he  said,  "There  wasn't  a  flake  of 
snow  on  the  other  side  of  the  hill  this  morning." 

And  Barr,  as  he  housed  his  horse  for  the  night, 
muttered  to  himself,  "and  some  has  to  be  han- 
dled rough  and  be  scared." 


SLIPPY'S 

SALUTfc 


jLIPPY  was  pondering.  A  very  unusual 
thing  for  Slippy,  who  was  commonly  of 
a  merry,  happy-go-lucky  turn  of  mind; 
but  wrinkles  of  perplexity  were  gathering  be- 
tween his  eyes  and  once  in  a  while  his  dirty  little 
fingers  scratched  his  head  thoughtfully. 

"Don't  see  why  my  pal  couldn't  have  shots 
fired  over  his  grave  on  Dec'ration  day  same  as 
the  others.  He  was  a  soldier,  I  know,  'cause  he 
used  to  tell  me  stories  about  fightin',  but  that 
man  said  that  he  wore  the  wrong  color  of  clothes. 
Don't  see  why  that  would  make  any  difference; 
Mr.  Benton  wears  black  clothes  and  Mr.  Strong 
wears  brown  ones  and  they  are  both  preachers. 
Anyway,  my  pal  has  got  to  have  shots  fired  over 
him." 

Slippy  rose  from  his  knees  where  he  had  been 
absent-mindedly  rolling  marbles  and  with  deter- 
mination in  his  face  started  for  the  nearby  store. 

"Please,  how  much  is  shot-guns  worth?" 

"What  kind  of  a  gun  do  you  want,  sonny? 
They  range  in  price.  What  do  you  want  to 
shoot?"  The  clerk  looked  down  upon  the  bit  of 
humanity  with  an  amused  look  upon  his  face. 


DEATH   VALLEY   SLIM 


"Oh,  I  didn't  want  to  shoot  nothin' — just  want 
to  shoot  in  the  air,"  Slippy  faltered. 

"I  see,  you  want  an  airgun;  we  can  give  you  a 
little  beauty  for  a  dollar  and  a  half." 

A  dollar  and  a  half!  Slippy  almost  lost  his 
breath.  He  had  never  had  a  dollar  and  a  half  of 
his  own  in  all  of  his  short  life.  Then  Slippy  had 
an  idea.  "Don't  want  a  boy  for  to  work,  do  you?" 

"Don't  know,  sonny.  Might  ask  the  boss. 
He's  in  the  back  of  the  store  behind  his  news- 
paper." 

Once  again  Slippy  gathered  his  courage  to- 
gether and  sought  the  "boss." 

"You  don't  want  a  boy  for  to  work,  do  you?" 

The  boss  looked  over  his  glasses  and  regarded 
Slippy  curiously.  "Whose  boy  are  you?  What's 
your  name?  Your  face  looks  familiar." 

"I  am  not  anybody's  boy  since  my  grandfather 
died — he  was  my  pal.  My  name  is  Thomas  Dud- 
ley, same  as  his  was,  but  they  call  me  Slippy 
'cause  I'm  so  little." 

"So  you  are  old  Tom  Dudley's  grandson,  are 
you  ?  Well,  my  boy,  if  you  leave  a  record  as  good 
as  his  when  you  leave  this  world,  you  will  have 
done  well.  The  only  thing  that  he  ever  did  in 
his  life  that  was  wrong  was  to  fight  for  the  South 
and  then  he  thought  he  was  right." 

"He  never  did  nothin'  that  was  wrong,  and  I 
don't  want  to  work  in  your  old  store!"  Slippy's 
eyes  flashed  and  his  pale  cheeks  burned. 

The  "boss"  chuckled.  "Tom,  for  all  the  world, 
just  the  way  he  talked  when  we  tried  to  tell  him 
he  was  on  the  wrong  side.  I  guess  you  want  to  be 
my  errand  boy — I  will  give  you  a  dollar  a  week. 
How  would  that  suit  you?" 

Slippy's  indignation  vanished  as  quickly  as  it 
had  come.  A  dollar  a  week,  and  two  weeks  until 
Decoration  day!  He  could  buy  a  flag,  too.  He 
never  had  dreamed  of  such  wealth,  so  with  a  wil- 


cAND  OTHER  STORIES 


lingness  born  of  a  happy  spirit,  Slippy  went  about 
his  new  duties. 

The  little  town  of  Marion  was  a  very  patriotic 
one  and  on  this  Decoration  day  she  was  doing 
herself  proud  in  the  Governor's  honor.  The  Gov- 
ernor claimed  Marion  for  his  birthplace  and  this 
was  his  first  visit  to  his  old  home  since  his  boy- 
hood and  the  little  town,  as  proud  of  their  chief 
executive  as  a  man,  as  they  were  of  his  position, 
was  putting  itself  forward  in  its  best  dress. 

Never  had  the  day  been  so  glorious ;  never  had 
the  flowers  been  so  profuse  or  the  music  so  stir- 
ring and  never  had  the  speeches  been  so  eloquent. 

The  "boss,"  who  had  grown  to  be  Slippy's  idol, 
was  very  much  in  need  of  Slippy's  aid,  but  Slippy 
was  nowhere  to  be  found.  "Strange  where  that 
little  imp  could  be.  Oh,  I  guess  he  is  out  with 
that  new  air-gun  he  bought  last  night.  A  boy 
with  a  new  gun  can  no  more  be  depended  upon 
than  a  newly-engaged  man.  Still,  I  can't  under- 
stand how  he  could  forget  Decoration  day  when 
he  thinks  so  much  of  the  memory  of  his  pal,  but 
boys  will  be  boys." 

When  the  small  company  of  veterans  marched 
into  the  cemetery  their  eyes  were  at  once  at- 
tracted toward  a  lonely  grave,  beside  which  stood 
a  tiny  slip  of  a  boy  holding  an  air-gun  in  position 
to  fire.  At  the  head  of  the  grave  proudly  floated 
the  stars  and  stripes  and  around  the  headstone 
was  tied  a  gray  ribbon. 

The  Governor  turned  a  questioning  eye  to  the 
captain  of  the  company,  who  was  Slippy's  "boss," 
and  he  stepped  forward  with  a  salute  and  told 
Slippy's  story,  simply,  but  in  a  way  that  hushed 
the  crowd  about  him  and  caused  the  Governor  to 
draw  his  hand  across  his  eyes. 

Then  the  Governor  did  a  very  unusual  thing. 
"Captain  Morgan,"  he  said,  "I  relieve  you  of  your 
command;  for  the  time  being  I  am  in  command. 


,KJ 


DEATH   VALLEY  SLIM 


Company,  attention;  to  the  right;  march!"  And 
before  the  people  hardly  understood  his  move- 
ments the  company  was  lined  up  beside  the  grave 
of  their  old  friend  and  enemy  and  the  salute  that 
was  fired  over  his  grave  was  almost  drowned  by 
the  deafening  cheers  of  the  people. 

The  Governor  then  stepped  forward  and  unty- 
ing the  gray  ribbon  from  the  headstone,  retied  it 
around  the  staff  of  the  flag  and  holding  up  his 
hand  to  silence  the  crowd  he  said :  "On  a  day  like 
this  we  remember  only  the  devotion  to  principle 
and  the  valor  of  our  soldiers  wherever  they  have 
fought  or  fallen.  We  are  today  led  by  a  little 
child  to  realize  that  we  are  one  people  and  at  last 
the  Blue  and  the  Gray  blend  in  perfect  harmony." 

As  Slippy  crept  off  by  himself  with  his  face 
beaming,  he  once  again  mused:  "Guess  that 
pleased  Him.  Fired  shots  over  Him  first.  I  didn't 
think  clothes  would  make  any  difference  to  the 
Governor.  I  like  the  Governor.  He  shook  hands 
with  me  and  told  me  that  ever'  Dec'ration  day 
he'd  see  that  they  fired  shots  over  my  pal's  grave. 
I'm  glad." 


(HE  stragglers  around  the  postoffice  at 
Mooney  Flat  had  found  a  subject  of 
great  interest  to  discuss.  They  were 
gathered  together  in  a  confidential  manner,  some 
of  them  whittling  a  little  more  vigorously  in 
honor  of  the  occasion,  and  others  chewing 
their  tobacco  with  perhaps  a  little  more  ve- 
hemence than  before.  When  they  were  finally 
settled  in  their  accustomed  places,  with  a 
look  of  anxious  expectancy  upon  each  face, 
they  turned  toward  Mart  Stewart,  who  was  the 
informer  of  the  neighborhood.  Mart,  recogniz- 
ing the  look,  shifted  his  cud  of  tobacco  to  the 
other  side  of  his  mouth,  recrossed  his  legs  and 
began — 

"Reckon  there'll  be  some  doin's  round  Mooney 
after  today's  stage.  I  heard  down  in  the  valley 
last  night  that  the  old  man  Forbes  was  just 
rantin'  for  fair." 

"Who's  tellin'  you,  Mart?"  Bob  Robinson 
drew  his  soap  box  a  little  closer  to  Mart,  as  he 
spoke.  Bob  ran  a  close  second  to  Mart  when  it 
came  to  the  matter  of  neighborhood  information. 

"Why,  I  was  over  to  Pineville  yesterday  and 
seen  the  kid's  cousin,  and  he  said  that  the  kid 
was  in  pretty  hard  luck.  It  seerns  that  he  fell  in 
love  with  a  girl  when  he  was  away  to  college. 


•-•.wj'«T»S  '••>•• 


..'•* 


DEATH  VALLEY   SLIM 


From  what  I  can  gather  she  is  a  stunner  for  looks 
and  a  right  nice  girl  all  around,  but  you  know 
how  old  man  Forbes  has  always  said  that  no  son 
of  his  should  ever  marry  a  city  girl." 

"I  heard  him  say  with  his  own  mouth,"  broke 
in  Jud  Baines,  "that  city  girls  wasn't  fit  for 
nothin'  but  to  go  to  the  theayters  and  eat  choc- 
olate creams." 

"But  what's  he  rantin'  about  now?"  inter- 
rupted Bill  Williams.  "Has  the  kid  married  a 
city  girl?" 

"No;  he  ain't  married  her,  but  he  says  he's 
a-goin'  to.  You  know  his  aunt  that  keeps  house 
for  them  thinks  the  world  and  all  of  the  kid — 
he  tells  her  about  the  girl  and  she  ups  and  in- 
vites her  to  come  down  to  the  ranch  and  spend 
the  summer.  When  the  old  man  hears  about  it, 
he  gets  red-headed  and  kicks  like  a  bay  steer.  He 
says  that  the  girl  would  would  fall  off  a  rockin' 
horse,  and  couldn't  no  more  milk  a  cow  than  he 
could  harness  an  automobile." 

Jud  Baines  again  broke  in,  "The  old  man's 
pretty  well  fixed — the  kid  better  look  a  little  out. 
He's  pretty  nervy  to  buck  agin  the  old  man; 
none  of  the  boys  afore  him  ever  dared  to  do  it. 
Now  I  recollect  one  time " 

"Hold  on  here,  Jud;  we  relish  that  story  when 
stories  are  scarce,  but  today  we  have  too  much 
of  real  live  interest  to  take  time  to  listen  to  that. 
Go  on  Mart — is  she  a-comin'  anyway?" 

"Reckon  she  is.  There  comes  the  Forbes  surry 
now  with  the  kid  drivin'  and  Aunt  Susan  in  the 
back  seat." 

A  hush  fell  upon  the  crowd  as  the  carriage  ap- 
proached and  a  handsome,  strapping  youth 
jumped  out,  bidding  them  all  a  jovial  good  mor- 
ning. 

Mart  was  first  to  speak.  "Specting  somebody 
in,  Ben?" 


c>lND  OTHER  STORIES 


"Well,  rather" — a  rare  smile  illumined  his  face. 
"How's  hay,  Bob?" 

"Fine — we've  got  it  all  stacked,  waiting  for  the 
balers.  Hear  yours  is  the  finest  for  years." 

"Yes,  it's  hard  to  beat.  The  stack  over  in  the 
west  field  is  a  beauty.  Father  struts  around  it 
as  proud  as  Punch;  think  he  would  have  a  fit  if 
anything  should  happen  to  it." 

The  clatter  of  the  hoofs  of  four  horses  and  the 
rumble  of  the  wheels  of  the  heavy  stage  arrested 
conversation,  and  when  a  dainty,  well-dressed, 
sweet-faced  girl  alighted,  the  onlookers  stared 
with  their  mouths  open.  Bill  Williams  was  so 
much  interested  that  he  let  the  stick  he  was  whit- 
tling fall  and  roll  under  the  porch,  while  Mart 
forgot  to  shift  his  tobacco. 

As  they  watched  the  carriage  out  of  sight, 
Mart  ejaculated,  "Well,  if  that  old  chunk  of  ice 
don't  melt  when  he  sees  her,  he's  a  glacier,  that's 
all!" 

But  the  chunk  of  ice  did  not  melt  when  he  saw 
her.  Although  his  well  known  hospitality  and 
old-school  courtesy  would  not  allow  him  to  be 
rude  to  anyone  under  his  own  roof,  he  gave  her 
no  chance  to  "be  friends"  with  him,  speaking  to 
her  only  when  she  spoke  to  him  and  then  making 
his  words  as  few  as  possible. 

After  a  week  of  vain  effort  to  make  friends  with 
him,  she  gathered  up  her  courage  and  asked  Ben 
the  cause  of  his  father's  peculiar  behavior. 

"Didn't  he  want  me  to  come?  Doesn't  he  like 
me  now  that  I  am  here?  What  have  I  done  to 
incur  such  disfavor?"  A  tear  came  in  each  brown 
eye,  as  she  spoke. 

It  was  a  moment  of  indecision  for  Ben.  Should 
he  tell  her  the  truth,  or  should  he  tell  her  that  it 
was  his  father's  natural  way?  But  a  moment  he 
wavered,  and  then,  true  to  his  upright,  frank  na- 
ture, he  told  her  the  exact  situation. 


DEATH  VALLEY  SLIM 


"You  see,  little  girl,  it  is  father's  hobby;  he 
has  a  wrong  idea  of  'city  girl^,'  as  he  dubs  you. 
He  got  his  idea  from  a  cousin  of  mine  who  vis- 
ited us  at  one  time,  and  since  then  his  antipathy 
has  grown,  until  now  he  thinks  it  is  almost  a 
crime  for  a  girl  not  to  know  how  to  milk  a  cow 
or  ride  a  horse."  His  hearty  laugh  dispelled  the 
tearful  look  about  her  eyes  and  she  said,  "Are 
you  quite  sure,  Ben,  that  that  is  all?" 

"Quite  sure,  little  girl;  how  could  there  be 
anything  else?  Now,  look  here!  You  must  for- 
get all  about  this,  because,  happily,  Benjamin 
Forbes,  Junior,  does  not  inherit  that  trait  of  his 
father's  character.  It  matters  not  to  him  whether 
you  can  ride  a  bucking  broncho  or  execute  Schu- 
bert's Serenade  with  the  brilliancy  of  Schubert 
himself,  so  long  as  you  are  you.  Do  you  see  that 
smoke  over  there?  That  is  a  forest  fire.  Did 
you  ever  see  one?" 

"No — will  it  come  near  to  us?" 

"We  most  certainly  hope  not;  and,  if  the  wind 
does  not  change,  we  have  no  cause  to  worry." 

"But  if  the  wind  does  change?" 

"Then  all  of  the  men  around  here  will  have  to 
fight  like  mad.  At  this  time  of  the  year  every- 
thing is  as  dry  as  powder,  and  a  fire,  once  started, 
travels  with  the  fierceness  of  a  tornado.  We  fight 
for  days  without  having  our  clothes  off.  If  it 
should  get  to  our  east  field  it  would  sweep  the 
whole  ranch  and  we  would  be  lucky  to  get  away 
with  our  lives."  June  Arnold  turned  her  eyes 
toward  the  haze  off  to  the  east  and  if  one  had 
been  watching  her  closely,  they  would  have  seen 
creep  into  her  face  a  look  of  determination,  and 
if  one  could  have  read  her  thoughts,  they  would 
have  been  surprised  by  the  wish  they  expressed. 

The  days  went  by  and  the  fire  crept  closer  to 
the  big  California  ranch  until  early  one  morning, 
long  before  old  Kate,  the  cook,  was  stirring,  there 


c>lND  OTHER   STORIES 


came  a  man — horseback — awaking  the  household 
and  putting  it  into  a  great  flurry  with  the  an- 
nouncement that  the  fire  was  upon  them. 

"Send  all  of  your  men  to  Penn  Hill  to  fight  at 
once — if  the  wind  stays  as  it  is  now  all  of  this 
country  will  be  in  ashes  by  night!" 

Hardly  had  the  echo  of  his  horse's  hoofs  died 
away  when  ten  men  rode  out  of  the  lane  at  Forbes' 
ranch.  Ben  Forbes  was  in  the  lead.  He  paused 
only  long  enough  to  wave  a  good  bye  to  a  white, 
frightened  little  face  in  an  upstairs  window. 

All  day  long  June  watched  the  progress  of  the 
fire,  with  Aunt  Susan  as  an  interpreter,  for  each 
move  of  the  smoke  or  degree  of  temperature,  for 
the  heat  had  grown  to  be  almost  unbearable. 

"Aunt  Sued!"  —  unconsciously  June  dropped 
into  Ben's  affectionate  diminutive  for  his  aunt — 
"Do  you  suppose  I  could  help  any?" 

"Dear  no,  child;  it  is  all  those  men  can  do  to 
stand  the  heat  over  there;  it  is  terrible  —  they 
simply  parch." 

"Then  they  must  need  water." 

"Indeed  they  do  need  water,  the  worst  way, 
but  they  can't  spare  a  man  to  get  it — they  haven't 
nearly  enough  men  as  it  is." 

June  arose,  with  the  determination  of  a  few 
days  before  deepening.  "I  am  going  to  take 
them  over  some  water — they  are  within  half  a 
mile  now." 

Aunt  Susan  gasped.  "My  child,  you  would 
faint  with  the  heat;  the  best  thing  for  us  to  do 
is  to  pack  our  valuables  and  be  ready  to  fly  at  a 
minute's  notice.  I  have  seen  lots  of  forest  fires 
in  my  day,  but  this  is  the  worst  in  my  recollec- 
tion." 

"I  have  only  one  valuable,  and  it  is  always  with 
me,"  June  colored  prettily  as  she  glanced  at  the 
sparkling  stone  on  the  third  finger  of  her  left 
hand.  "I  believe  if  they  can  stand  the  heat  for 


DEATH  VALLEY  SLIM 


hours  I  can  stand  it  long  enough  to  get  some 
water  to  them — I  can  try  at  least." 

The  bucket  grew  heavy  and  heavier  as  she 
trudged  along,  the  heat  growing  more  and  more 
intense  as  she  got  nearer  to  the  fire;  but  on  she 
went,  never  faltering  for  a  moment.  The  grate- 
ful looks  the  men  gave  her  for  the  life-saving 
draught  fully  repaid  her  for  it  all.  They  took 
only  time  for  a  hurried  swallow  and  then  back 
again  to  their  fighting — no  time  had  they  for 
speech,  not  even  Ben  noticed  her,  further  than 
to  give  her  a  look  of  love  and  thanks. 

But  there  was  one  who  did  not  stop  his  fight- 
ing long  enough  to  know  even  of  her  presence. 
He  was  calling  out  orders  to  the  men  in  a  hoarse, 
excited  voice.  She  looked  at  him,  spellbound — 
she  had  never  before  heard  him  speak  more  than 
a  few  words  at  a  time. 

"If  we  had  ten  more  men  to  fight  off  the  fire 
at  that  corner  of  the  field,  we  could  save  that 
haystack,  but  six  miles  to  get  a  man,  and  not  a 
man  can  be  spared  to  go.  My  God!  the  whole 
country  is  going  to  go!  Boys — over  this  way; 
start  the  back-fire  over  on  this  side!  The  wind 
is  changing  and  we  will  have  to  work  like  devils 

to  save  our  own  lives!     See " 

But  the  girl  had  quietly  slipped  away  and  had 
gone  down  into  a  gully  where  she  had  seen  a 
saddled  pony  tied. 

With  trembling  hands  she  untied  him  and 
pulling  the  stirrups  up  shorter,  she  mounted.  Her 
breath  came  quickly  as  she  watched  the  pony, 
with  dilated  nostrils,  turn  his  face  toward  the 
roaring,  crackling  forest.  The  sky  above  her  was 
livid,  against  it  the  burning  trees  making  gro- 
tesque figures.  She  gathered  the  reins  into  her 
hands  and,  speaking  to  him  in  a  wavering  voice, 
she  started  him  off. 

Although  the  pony  was  as  easy  as  a  cradle, 


OTHER   STORIES 


it  seemed  to  her  that  every  minute  she  would  be 
thrown;  but  she  clung  to  the  pommel  of  the  sad- 
dle with  all  the  strength  of  her  delicate  white 
hands.  The  light  from  the  flames  caught  the 
stone  upon  her  hand,  causing  it  to  burst  into  a 
glory  of  scintillating  lights,  giving  her  renewed 
courage  as  she  watched  it. 

On  and  on  they  sped,  the  girl  talking  to  the 
pony  as  they  skimmed  past  field  after  field.  "You 
know  this  means  more  than  the  saving  of  hay, 
fences  and  barns,"  she  was  saying  to  him,  "and 
you  must  help  me  to  show  him  that  a  'city  girl' 
can  do  something  besides  going  to  the  theater 
and  eating  chocolate  creams.  You  must  help 
me — I've  got  to  make  it,"  and  the  animal,  seem- 
ing to  realize  upon  what  errand  he  was  speeding, 
needed  no  whip  nor  spur. 

In  what  seemed  an  age  to  her,  but  in  reality 
an  incredibly  short  time,  the  town  was  reached 
and  she  quickly  informed  the  crowd,  which  gath- 
ered about  her  foaming  horse,  of  her  mission. 

The  men  responded  to  a  man,  one  of  them  call- 
ing back  to  her,  "Better  not  let  y^our  horse  have 
any  water  for  a  time,  Miss."  The  girl's  heart 
sank  as  she  watched  the  smoke  roll  up  against 
an  already  blackened  sky  and  the  flames  shooting 
up  until  it  seemed  that  they  almost  touched  the 
heavens. 

She  rode  her  horse  back  slowly,  her  nerve  force 
all  gone  now  that  her  errand  was  accomplished. 
She  was  weak  from  the  hard,  strenuous  ride  and 
a  sudden  fear  came  over  her  as  she  remembered 
that  she  was  on  a  horse  for  the  first  time  in  her 
life.  She  let  her  arms  slip  down  around  the  pony's 
neck  and  thus  she  rode,  the  pony  picking  his  way 
carefully  as  if  aware  that  he  bore  a  precious  bur- 
den. 

At  last  the  ranch-house  came  into  sight  and  in 
front  of  it  she  saw  a  crowd  of  people.  As  she 


C     ,,.-•• 
.-*. 


\    / 


DEATH  VALLEY   SLIM 


drew  near  she  could  distinguish  Aunt  Susan  in 
the  foreground,  gesticulating  wildly.  She  could 
see  that  the  fire  was  under  control,  the  men  hav- 
ing ceased  their  vigorous  fighting,  some  of  them 
lying  sound  asleep  in  the  grass. 

But  could  she  believe  her  eyes?  Approaching 
her  with  his  hands  extended,  and  tears  rolling 
down  his  blackened  face,  was  Ben's  father.  He 
lifted  her  from  the  saddle  and  taking  both  of  her 
hands  in  his,  he  looked  down  into  her  wondering 
eyes  and  said,  "I  guess,  little  girl,  we  can't  get 
along  without  you  on  this  ranch.  Such  pluck  as 
yours  isn't  found  every  day.  I  want  to  say  to 
you  that  I'll  be  proud  to  have  you  for  my  daugh- 
ter; let's  go  in  now  and  talk  over  a  few  things 
we've  been  neglecting.  Boys,  Susan  says  there's 
a  big  supper  ready  for  you  all,  come  right  in  and 
welcome;  Mart,  you  lead  the  way." 

As  Ben  gave  June's  hand  a  little  squeeze  he 
whispered,  "'Twas  that  prize  hay  stack  that  did 
it." 


THE   END 


NOTE.—  "The  Raceforthe  Sunbeam"  was  first  published 


^x-x 

\-<*'.  £*  3^ 

",-&  •.  V^'X^'S^          ty  the  Ouf  West  Magazine,  and  is  here  reproduced  by  permis- 

'  :-;:i^":'-'---:        sion. 


"Death  Valley  Slim,"  "The  Princess"  and  "Slippy's  Salute" 
were  first  published  by  fhe  Western  World,  and  are  here  repro- 
duced by  permission. 


^-UBRARY^/.         <5tt»VER%. 


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